


Marriage is What Brings Us Together Today

by citizenjess (givehimonemore), patientalien



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Brunch, Drag Queens, F/M, Fake Marriage, Gay Marriage, M/M, Night Clubs, Pride, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess, https://archiveofourown.org/users/patientalien/pseuds/patientalien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the males-only planet of Analbeadla (yes, we really went there), Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi must pose as a married couple to ensure the continued safety of the system's famed, annual Pride Festival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: Marriage is a Dream Within a Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fanofthefass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanofthefass/gifts), [MyBellaLove16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyBellaLove16/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Analbeadla Pride or Bust!](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/23193) by citizenjess and patientalien. 



> So basically, patientalien and I finally figured out a way for two plot lines we've been trying to turn into full-fledged 'fics in their own right to coalesce: The first is the idea of a mission where Anakin and Obi-Wan must pretend to be married (much to the Council's sniggering delight, of course); the second is the two celebrating Pride in some fashion ('tis the season!). The end result is quite possibly one of my most favorite things we've ever written together, although to be honest, I say that a lot, so maybe don't hold me to it. But still, we had a really, really good time plotting this out together, and we're excited to share it with the Internet at large; that is, if you can get past the paper-thin plot and general silliness of the ideas themselves and, well, I'll shut up. (THERE IS ALSO A SOUNDTRACK!!!) 
> 
> This takes place before the end of season four of Clone Wars, but after the "Deception" arc. Along with Anakin/Obi-Wan, there are hints of Anakin/Padme and Bail/Obi-Wan. Warning: Non-graphic attempted rape; mentions of casual alcohol/drug consumption. Analbeadla is ours (OBVIOUSLY), though Chandrila is not ... though uh, TBH we played really fast and loose with some of the canon details about it, so take it with a grain of salt, i.e.: Wookieepedia is still your first line of defense in fact-checking kthx. Will be posted in three parts. Story and chapter titles all come from the infamous "mawwiage" speech from The Princess Bride, mostly because we couldn't get a pun involving Pride and Prejudice to quite work (and believe me, we tried, OH HOW WE TRIED). Also, this is dedicated in good humor to some of our RPing/Stra Wras buddies over on Tumblr, including Fass, Mel, Rin, and Padme Amidala/queenhandmaidensenator, who is a real person, what? Rated R/M.

That several members of the Jedi Council were grinning when Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker entered the circular chamber where some of the most important decisions about the Order were made was unsettling, to say the least. "Good afternoon," Obi-Wan greeted, stopping in the middle of the room and bowing, his feet aligned neatly with the floor pattern. Anakin dutifully stopped beside him and inclined his head, albeit a tad more warily.

Master Windu, often one of the more stoic presences on the Council to contend with, regarded them with a look that bordered on gleeful. "Good morning," he rumbled, his fingers steepled under his chin, his eyes mysteriously mirthful. "You're probably wondering why you've been called here today." They both waited. "We've just received a request for Jedi security detail on Analbeadla in the Outer Rim." 

"Where is that, precisely?" Obi-Wan queried.

"Near Chandrila," Windu responded promptly, as though he had been expecting this very question. "In fact, you might say it's Chandrila's brother system; as you know, Chandrila is a planet run by a single tribe of humanoid females who reproduce by self-fertilizing and then by laying their own eggs. Their offspring is also entirely female."

"I didn't know any of that," Anakin muttered, and Obi-Wan nudged him sharply in the arm.

"You might know it if you had attended a composite of more than ten percent of your Galactic Geography classes as a Padawan," Obi-Wan cut in, but a withering glance darkening Windu's disturbingly cheerful face made him quickly contrite. "My apologies, Master."

Windu just 'hmmph'-ed. "Anyways, Analbeadla is similar to Chandrila in that its population consists entirely of one gender, though in this case, they're all males. Many citizens of Analbeadla are not necessarily native to the system, though they do submit to rigorous vetting in order to receive right-to-work benefits and local aid and such." Windu paused and cleared his throat a little. "In any case, the system pulls in a lot of off-world attention from and during its annual Pride Festival, which lasts three rotations."

"I've heard of that," Anakin cut in again. "It's basically the Outlander on a weekend-long bender."

"Skywalker, stop annotating my notes," Windu snapped, and Anakin exhaled sharply through his nose, pouting a little, but piped down. "ANYWAYS," Windu continued, "The Analbeadlaean Queen is worried that in the midst of the Clone Wars, the celebration will attract Separatist attention. They are hoping for a pair of Jedi to see the event through to make sure that doesn't happen. That's where the two of you come in," he finished.

Anakin remained silent. However, Obi-Wan looked confused. "Forgive me, Master," he ventured, "but did you say 'Queen'? I thought the Analbeadlaeans were all males?"

Windu pursed his lips. "Correct. The title is something of a misnomer. The head of Analbeadla's government is male, and he gets elected every few years by popular vote, but his title is Queen of Analbeadla."

Obi-Wan still looked perplexed. "But ... why?"

Windu sighed a little. "The thing is, Analbeadlaean officials are ... flamboyant. Their habits of dress, their mannerisms, are quite ..."

"Queen-y?" Anakin supplied helpfully, intrigued by the Vapaad Master's sudden discomfort.

Windu sat back in his chair. "Quite." The bemusement on his face began to peak again at the corners of his mouth. "So you will be representing the Jedi Order on this mission. However, Queen Flameout is worried that a noticeable law enforcement presence might disturb event patrons. Ergo, you two will be in disguise." He paused. "And before you ask, no, the Queen's real name is not, in fact, Flameout. Analbeadlaean rulers attain a title of their choosing upon taking the throne." 

Self-preservation seemed to be staying both Obi-Wan's and Anakin's tongues from asking too many more clarifying questions. Still: "What sort of disguises, Master?" Obi-Wan attempted.

Windu raised an eyebrow. "I'm glad you asked. After consulting with the Council," he began, gesturing at those in attendance, including a faintly smiling Ki-Adi Mundi and Kit Fisto, who waggled a friendly tentacle at them, "it has been decided that you, Obi-Wan, and Skywalker will pose as partners attending the festival on vacation."

It took a moment for this to sink in. "Partners," Obi-Wan mused. "Do we own a business together?"

"No," Windu said, and paused. "You'll be ... betrothed. To one another. It's a common practice on-planet." He ignored (or rather, silently relished) the slowly-dawning horror on Obi-Wan's face and rattled off more details to his at last receptive audience: "The Council can supply you both with some festival-appropriate clothing. You'll also probably want something to visually symbolize your union - most couples wear matching rings." 

"I ... huh." For once, Obi-Wan was at a loss for words. Eventually, however, he managed to put forth a more eloquent response: "Master, with all due respect, are we absolutely sure that the Separatists will care about the occasional exploits of a, for all intents and purposes, pleasure planet?"

"A gay pleasure planet," Anakin chimed in.

"Shut up, Anakin," Obi-Wan groused.

"I don't think that's something you should say to your husband, Obi-Wan," Anakin scoffed.

"For the love of the Republic, will both of you shut your karking mouths? You're ruining this for all of us." Once more, the room fell uncomfortably silent. "Do what you need to do for the sake of the mission," Windu continued. "Come up with fake identities, make sure it all, ahem, looks legitimate, and attend all of the major events of the weekend. Report back with any developments. Standard operating procedure, you understand." The mirth was back, and with it, Obi-Wan's general disappointment in the way his life had turned out thus far.

This feeling was further compounded by Anakin slapping him jovially on the back. "I think I can speak for both of us when I say that we won't let you down, Master Windu." He attempted to link arms with his former Master, but Obi-Wan, overtly annoyed, shrugged him off. "You're gonna have to do better than that to pull off being married to me, Master," Anakin added, watching Obi-Wan move slightly away and grumpily cross his arms.

Windu's shoulders were barely suppressing his snickers. "Much as I hate to admit it, Skywalker is right." He made a 'shoo'-ing motion suddenly. "Now, go. Keep Analbeadla free to celebrate Pride any way it wishes. May the Force be with you." To his credit, he was very nearly successful at avoiding any outright guffaws until just before the door closed behind the two Jedi Knights.

*

 

Ahsoka Tano checked her wrist chrono for the eighth or ninth time that morning, resisting the urge to tap her foot impatiently, mostly because it was a pointless gesture without an audience. Her Master was adamant about early-morning workout sessions whenever they were at the Temple for reasons she was not entirely clear on - he wasn't exactly a naturally early riser, though she suspected he enjoyed exercising at dawn because his impressive insomnia kept him up most nights anyways - and this morning, he was late. 

She was just about to invoke the tried-and-true "fifteen minute rule" and go about her day sans-workout when Anakin appeared, already looking rather sweaty and unkempt; that he was shirtless, his forehead and non-metal wrist adorned with deep red sweatbands, his boots replaced with nondescript white gym shoes, did not help matters, as it implied that he had had time to change clothing and that this was still the end result. "'Bout time," she commented, wincing as he passed her and she caught a whiff of what smelled like a full distillery oozing from his pores. "Holy kriff, you smell awful," she complained, waving a hand in front of her face. It didn't help much. "What have you been doing all night?"

Anakin shrugged, setting up the stereo with their usual workout mix. "Method acting," he replied simply, and hit 'play'. A somewhat-offensive, slangy pop song blared from hidden speakers in the gym's walls, and Ahsoka sighed. No matter how many times she'd requested the music selection be varied ("Can't we at least do crunches to something that isn't vaguely racist?" was apparently asking too much), Anakin insisted on the same rotation every time; something, he assured her, was one of the perks of being a Master. "Me and Obi-Wan are leaving on a mission this afternoon."

Ahsoka fell into step beside him as they began the cardio warm-up. "Well, what am I supposed to do, then?" she asked, almost gagging as Anakin's movements sent another wave of booze-smell her way. 

Shrugging again, Anakin clumsily adjusted his movements to better match hers; he obviously wasn't at the top of his game this morning. "Study extra," he suggested eventually. "Work with younglings. I don't know, I'm sure the Council will give you something to do."

Ahsoka didn't really like the sound of any of that, from working with younglings - too sticky, she decided; so far, her one foray into giving back to the pre-Padawan community had only left her with an overwhelming urge to whack one of the smart-mouthed little buggers upside the head with her 'sabers - to her Master going on a mission that he apparently needed to prepare for by getting piss-drunk. "Why can't I come with you?" she challenged. 

"It's not for you," he replied shortly, and she growled a little.

The music changed and the tempo increased. Ahsoka fell easily into the faster-paced movements, but Anakin was struggling. "Remember the rule, Master," she chirped between jumping jacks. "We get to stop when you throw up!" It was a rule that had been developed by Anakin, to push them both harder - if he vomited from the exertion, that meant, to him, they'd worked hard enough. It usually took several hours, but today, he already looked decidedly green, and Ahsoka wasn't going to let the opportunity to scrimp pass her by. 

"Not gonna happen!" Anakin gasped out, but only moments later, he emptied his stomach contents onto the floor. Quickly, Ahsoka placed her finger aside her nose, silent code for 'not it,' having no desire to help clean up her Master's mess. After a beat or two, Anakin noticed and grunted. "Ugh, I think the mop is still covered in my barf from last week," Anakin groaned, but stumbled towards the small custodial closet across the room nonetheless. 

As she watched him clean up his own sick, Ahsoka took the opportunity to remain still. "So come on, why are you taking Obi-Wan and not me? I thought it was important for me to learn everything I can from you via observation."

"It is." Anakin's head bobbed a little as he painstakingly swirled the last remnants of his vomit around. "But this is what the Council wanted - and as you know, we NEVER question the Council." He began laughing at his own 'joke,' but it ended with him gagging on what was probably another near-mouthful of throw up and he stopped abruptly, swallowing hard. "Anyways, it is what it is. Do what you're told and don't get snippy, Snips."

"Don't call me that, Skyguy."

She watched him levitate the yet-unwashed mop back into its closet. His hands free, he made a cutting motion with his fingers near her left montral. "Snip, snip, Snips."

"Ugh." She ducked away from the offending hand motion until Anakin stopped. "So what, is it something where they don't trust you to do the talking, so they need Master Kenobi?"

"Nah, it's not that." Anakin picked up a small set of blue hand weights again, and then used the Force to reset the offensive musical track. Ahsoka sighed a little. "It's Pride weekend on Analbeadla," he explained briefly, and then pointed at Ahsoka's own hand weights until she begrudgingly picked them up. "No girls allowed. Obi-Wan and I are gonna pretend to be partners." 

Ahsoka blinked. "Partners, like you're both businessmen or ..." The realization was swift. "Oh. Ha, I bet Master Obi-Wan is cursing the Force for this one."

"He'll grin and bear it," Anakin said absently, ignoring how this seemed to make Ahsoka giggle harder. In truth, the upcoming subterfuge did not bother him all that much. Perhaps, after pretending to be a slave trader to infiltrate the Zygerrians, aligning himself romantically with the man who had been the most formative part of his world for the past decade or so seemed, as his former friend Tru Veld used to say, like a piece of mujaberry cake. He already loved Obi-Wan, and he'd never been all that great at tamping down his feeling of attachment anyways, so it seemed like the best of both worlds. 

Still, everyone else's reaction to the mission thus far had rankled him. Obi-Wan had remained unnecessarily grumpy after they'd left the Council chambers, and Anakin had decided to forego the usual last-ditch effort to visit with Padme, opting instead for a night of slight debauchery and more than a little alcohol in the Orange District. The morning hangover was reminiscent of his days as a Padawan, to be sure, but all the same, he wasn't sneaking back into his and Obi-Wan's apartment just before his Master had finished morning meditation. Exercise was exercise however he sliced it, and he was a Knight and a General for the Grand Army of the Republic now. He didn't have to answer to Obi-Wan, and he didn't need to be made to feel guilty for his choices, or for not feeling more conflicted about the precautions that needed to be taken for this latest mission. 

In the end, it was just like a thousand other missions, and anyways, if Obi-Wan could justify faking his own death and selling out Anakin's emotional devastation in response to it for the greater good, he could withstand this. For his part, Anakin would work to not feel offended that to Obi-Wan, having to pretend to be legally married to his former Padawan was just as much a sacrifice of his dignity as being beaten by slaver goons, or temporarily assuming the facade of some dick bounty hunter. He could handle that, he decided, and began moving with renewed vigor through his workout. Beside him, Ahsoka seemed to notice and stepped up her pace, as well. When the song had finished, he immediately started it over. "Again," he intoned, and Ahsoka moaned in protest, but he just smirked. "Faster, more intense!" he declared, and his apprentice begrudgingly acquiesced.

*

 

"Thank you for doing this," Obi-Wan proffered, watching Bail hunt around in a small, intricate-looking wooden box containing a number of expensive-looking pieces of jewelry: Cufflinks, a choker, a few rings. 

"My pleasure," Bail intoned, eventually tugging out the least fancy-looking of the rings, a silver-colored band inlaid with small green jewels. "This one kind of matches your eyes," he smiled, and Obi-Wan groaned, albeit good-naturedly. Warily, he watched Bail traverse the short distance between them and lower himself on one knee. "Obi-Wan Kenobi," the Senator grinned, brandishing the ring; Obi-Wan crossed his arms. "Will you marry me?"

"That depends," Obi-Wan shrugged, cocking his head. "Can you keep your pants on during a fancy Senate function where wine is being served?"

"Is that a deal-breaker?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "It should be; and yet, this is what I get to put up with, pretending to be betrothed to Anakin for the next three days." He watched Bail stand and briefly dust himself off, and then held out his palm for the ring. "In any case, I sincerely appreciate your assistance in this latest subterfuge. Apparently, that's my specialty these days."

Bail just 'hmmm'-ed. "Is Anakin going to need a ring, too?"

"He says he can get one elsewhere," Obi-Wan supplied, fitting the borrowed piece around the appropriate finger. "So I assume that means he's going to broggle Senator Amidala once or twice before we ship out and slip some bauble or another into his pocket when he's done."

Bail outright grinned. "'Broggle,' eh? Haven't heard that one in a while." 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "My apologies. He's not only stolen my Knighthood, he's absolutely wrecked my vocabulary." He held up his hand, wiggling his ring finger a little. "How do I look?"

"Very nice." The cheeky smile on Bail's face faded into a soft sincerity. "You know, I'm not a Jedi, but the next time you need someone to go to brunch with, you can sidestep Anakin's terrible table manners altogether, you know."

The implication made Obi-Wan's own lips curl upwards a little. "It would be nice to spend a meal with someone who knows which fork is for salad - or at the very least, uses any fork at all to eat their salad." They both chuckled. "Anyways, Senator, thank you again. I'll return this in one piece, I promise."

"Of course, Master Jedi." Bail's gaze was fond, perhaps more so than Obi-Wan should have been comfortable with. That was his typical modus operandi these days, however, it seemed: It hadn't been very long since Anakin had been Knighted and then promptly battered down with an apprentice of his own; and while Ahsoka had turned out to be quite good for him, and even though it was turnabout as fair play, considering Obi-Wan's own non-existent Knighthood, the fact remained that Anakin still acted very, very young sometimes. 

Still, this war had weathered them both significantly. The result occasionally gave Obi-Wan whiplash: One moment, Anakin could be sucking down drinks and dancing debauchedly on tables on a weekend bender while on furlough, and the next, he was almost single-handedly strong-arming another victory against the Separatists for the Republic. The two halves did not always meet smoothly, and one day, Obi-Wan feared that they would fail to come together at all, and so he tried to stand back and let Anakin make his own mistakes, while simultaneously trying not to take it personally when his former Padawan lashed out at him. They were friends now, good friends, and he knew that such a strong friendship mandated a lowering of his usual inhibitions regarding attachments. Anakin needed to be reminded often that he was loved, and most days, Obi-Wan was all right being the one to do the reminding. He knew that his recent subterfuge as Rako Hardeen had seemed like the worst sort of betrayal of Anakin's emotions, had known it as soon as the idea had floated into his head during that fateful Council meeting all those weeks ago. The reactions of Mace Windu and Master Yoda had confirmed that tenfold. 

"Are you sure?" Windu had said at the time, and his fingers had even stopped drumming momentarily against the arm of his chair. "The boy will not take it well when he learns the truth," he'd noted dubiously, and Obi-Wan had agreed. Anakin hadn't taken it well at any juncture, in fact, and that was the point: Anakin's emotions were both volatile and incredibly predictable, and if Obi-Wan had to do it again, he would still attribute the mission's success largely to the spectacle of the young man, looming and muted in grief at his funeral service. He would still do it again, for the sake of the Republic, because he was a Jedi and so was Anakin and that was what Jedi did, and so even if he didn't particularly like the duty that had been foisted upon him at any given moment, even if a mission might skirt dangerously close to how he really felt or what he had been having trouble articulating as of late, it was not for him to pick and choose. 

He must have appeared to have made some sort of decision - perhaps he'd squared his shoulders a little more - because Bail was watching him curiously. "Just bring yourself back in one piece," the other man said, and Obi-Wan nodded, intentionally keeping his distance today. Bail, ever the diplomat, certainly noticed, but kept things lighthearted: "And you know, if you happened to acquire some small trinket or souvenir and had nowhere to put it, I could probably give it a good home," he joked, and Obi-Wan allowed himself a genuine smile. They parted amicably, and when Obi-Wan ventured outside of 500 Republica anew, the adornment on his hand sparkled tantalizingly in the mild Coruscant sunlight.


	2. Part II: The Dream of Love Wrapped Within the Great Dream of Everlasting Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Anakin fight, kiss and make up, and then fight some more. Also, gay dance clubs and BDSM and brunch, oh my!

Anakin glanced over at his traveling companion, frowning slightly at the steely silence between them. Obi-Wan had been in a foul mood since departing from Coruscant, and that mood had only worsened as they got closer to their destination. "So, uh, I'm gonna go change," he said, rising from the pilot's seat and heading into the cargo bay. 

They were to be arriving on Analbeadla in the early evening, just in time for the party kicking off the beginning of the Pride festivities, which meant changing in the ship en route instead of once they hit planetside. 

The Jedi Temple's quartermaster had, with some amusement, provided them with the kind of clothing that would help them fit in without calling too much attention to themselves. Anakin laid out the outfits, unable to suppress the swell of excitement at the prospect of seeing Obi-Wan in his. Obi-Wan's ensemble consisted of synthetic animal hide pants, a matching vest, and strappy black boots, while Anakin found himself sliding on skin-tight black pants and a mesh tunic. He left his glove on; his mechno was too conspicuous, and thanks to the Republic's use of his and Obi-Wan's likenesses in Holonet propaganda, it had become something of a trend on some of the more fashion-forward planets, meaning it would help him to fit right in. 

There was just one piece of the puzzle left. He dug around in his discarded utility belt until he found it: His wedding ring, slung on a silver chain. While Obi-Wan had needed to borrow a piece of jewelry to symbolize their partnership, Anakin had one already available, in Padme's apartment, tucked away in a box beside his Padawan braid and the japor snippet he had carved her as a child. Wedding rings were a tradition on Naboo, as on many planets, and they'd exchanged them as they had exchanged vows. Anakin had never been able to wear his openly, instead entrusting its safekeeping to his wife.

He hadn't had any qualms about explaining the mission. She was well aware of the difference between their personal and professional lives, and besides, she knew that nothing he did (or thought about doing) with Obi-Wan lessened what he had with her. Still, she'd made a weird face when he'd told her, which made her the fourth or fifth person to do that, now, and it was grating on his nerves a bit. 

Trying to shove down his frustration, he slipped the chain around his neck (wearing it on his mechno hand would just look weird) and stretched. "Come on, Master!" he called, trying to keep the whine out of his voice. He was getting a little bit desperate for Obi-Wan to break the silence, but he knew from experience it was better not to push, at least not right away.

After a few long moments, Obi-Wan emerged from the cockpit, taking a look at his own supplied outfit for the evening and running a hand over his beard. "I have a bad feeling about this," he murmured, but nonetheless pulled on the clothes, completing the illusion by spiking his hair straight up, which surprised Anakin a bit, truth be told. Still, he'd seen Obi-Wan go through more dramatic transformations for the sake of a mission; he was just glad he could recognize his friend's face this time. 

"Have you thought of a name?" he asked. There, if he asked something specifically about the mission, Obi-Wan couldn't freeze him out.

Obi-Wan paused for a moment. "I was going to use 'Ben,'" he said, and Anakin frowned at the implication of Obi-Wan using the nickname bestowed upon him by Bail Organa. It was bad enough that he was pretty sure he knew where Obi-Wan's own fake wedding band had come from. "What about you?"

Anakin shrugged. "Lars Quell," he replied, trying to keep his voice from tightening. 

"Really?" Obi-Wan said, incredulously. "But you've already used that. Honestly, some creativity wouldn't be remiss, Anakin."

Scowling, Anakin retorted, "Nobody here's gonna be from Zygerria, and I hardly count 'Ben' as creative."

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, the effect somewhat dampened by his new look, but only just. "Fine," he said unhappily, and Anakin resisted the urge to mimic his movements.

"Fine," he sniffed as well, striding back to the cockpit. "Do you know where we're going?" he asked, snippier than he might have intended to be, but also maybe not. 

"Of course I do," Obi-Wan snapped back, following him and taking his place in the co-pilot's seat. "Because I read the mission briefing instead of making a fool out of myself in the Orange District last night." 

"It was method acting!" Anakin protested anew. When Obi-Wan didn't immediately respond, Anakin added, "Where am I supposed to go once we hit the main city?" 

Obi-Wan powered up the ship's global positioning system and crossed his arms over his chest. Anakin frowned. Something told him that this was just going to be an extremely long and unpleasant mission from start to finish.

*

 

It hadn't gotten better once they'd touched down on Analbeadla. 

Part of the reason was that it was usually Obi-Wan's job to double-check the ship's built-in navigation device and verify that, in fact, Anakin was piloting in the right direction. For whatever reason, however, Obi-Wan had missed a couple of cues, leading to Anakin needing to turn the ship around and backtrack a bit, and so they had arrived later than anticipated, something that never failed to rankle Obi-Wan. 

Attempting to slough off some tension, Anakin had cracked a smile. "I guess there's a reason nobody calls you the Navigator, huh, Master?" he'd quipped, but Obi-Wan had not been impressed. 

"Eat a dick, Anakin."

"Aw, that's the spirit!" He was legitimately bemused by/on his Master's behalf, but all the same, it was tiring being the only one in a good mood. En route to their destination, Obi-Wan's silent treatment was so intense that they had even foregone 'slugging' one another when a squat-looking starship had crossed their path, the specific make of which was usually enough for both Master and Padawan to rush to punch the other on the bicep and yell "slug bug," along with whatever color and any other distinguishing characteristics of the vehicle. It was a game that Anakin had initiated and that they had played since he was a little boy; he'd also gotten Ahsoka to join in, but not as consistently. "I guess you're really mad at me," Anakin had groused as he watched Obi-Wan's eyes slide over the neighboring ship. Obi-Wan had said nothing, but merely continued staring out the window.

Eventually, of course, they arrived, and Anakin, irritated and feeling sore after being cooped up in their own ship for hours with little movement, stretched and surveyed the immediate area. Closing his eyes, he felt around through the Force for anything suspicious. "Lotsa frenetic energy," he said finally, "but no Separatist sleemos. Yet."

"Yet," Obi-Wan repeated tightly. For some reason, this being the first thing his Master had to say only served to annoy him. Fists clenched a little at his side, he began leading the way towards the throngs of people in the center of the planet's largest city's biggest square, Obi-Wan's essence in the Force more jagged than usual. 

It wasn't difficult to find the nightclub hosting the night's festivities. Spotlights lit up the night and a massive multi-colored flag fluttered over the entry-way. Anakin stopped for a moment, closing his eyes and soaking up the sensations in the Force; pleasure, excitement, arousal ... all the feelings that drew him to the Outlander time and time again. But this was a mission and as such, he would be on his best behavior, at least as it extended to staying in character.

Obi-Wan acquiesced to holding his hand as they made their way through the line to get in, their fake IDs provided by Republic Intelligence enough to, at least, fool the bouncer. The dance music pounding from the speakers sounded like home, as far as Anakin was concerned. "Well, at least we haven't missed the Queen's presentation," Obi-Wan muttered as they made their way through the crowd.

Arriving at the edge of the assembled throng, Anakin caught a glimpse of a makeshift stage, upon which a tall, hefty being waved a feather boa in time with the music. "That is Queen Flameout," Obi-Wan informed him, sotto voice, as if Anakin couldn't have figured it out on his own, what with the elaborate wig - it rivaled any of Padme's - and sequined gown and heavy makeup. The Queen continued with the show, all moving arms and swinging hips, artificially-enhanced lips moving in unison with the words of the song. Other members of the crowd - all men, dressed as men with few exceptions - whooped and cheered, holding out small-denomination credit chips as the Queen moved up and down the stage. 

At last, the show came to a close as the Queen performed a mildly-complex acrobatic act culminating in a cartwheel that ended in the Queen doing a split on the stage, one bedazzled arm raised high in the air. 

Having assured themselves that the Queen was, for the moment, safe, the two Jedi turned to one another. "Go patrol the perimeter," Obi-Wan instructed, and Anakin immediately bristled. 

"Fine, but where are you going, then, Master?" he replied, trying to inject a lighter tone into his voice.

Obi-Wan leveled him with a withering look. "For a drink, of course," he quipped darkly, and then walked away and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Anakin alone to contemplate his own next move.

*

 

Hours into the evening, and Anakin found himself less aggrieved by Obi-Wan's 'tude; being modestly hammered helped with that, and he sucked down another delicious shot of something the slightly muscled waiter in a gimp mask had called a 'G-Shot,' made of differently-colored gelatins (he preferred yellow, as evidenced by the remains of several tiny cups surrounding him along 'his' stretch of bar). The evening's party was in full-swing: Men of all different ages shimmied and sometimes very nearly grinded against one another in a cacophony of heated, shiny flesh. Fog machines artificially enhanced the ambiance of the giant dance floor, as well as turrets of glitter that occasionally rained down. A steady stream of loud, thumping music pumped through a cranked-up sound system. All in all, a good night, except, well, in truth, he had no idea whatsoever where Obi-Wan was. Anakin had not immediately followed him towards the bar, but when he'd arrived, his Master was nowhere to be found. 

He craned his neck and squinted into the fog for the fourth or fifth time, trying to ascertain the familiar shape of his fellow Jedi, when a hand on his shoulder made him jump. "Ah! You scared me," he gasped, but he was relieved nonetheless to be reunited with his Master-cum-fake-husband. 

For his part, Obi-Wan did not seem to look any worse for the wear; if anything, however, the slight flush of his skin after hours spent in the slightly sweltering night club, and the unusual tightness and dark pallor of his clothing went a long way towards helping him appear, well, ravishable. Then, of course, he had to go and ruin it, gesturing down at the cups littering Anakin's bar space. "How many of those have you had?" he asked, voice coated with disdain.

"Not enough for you to make a case to the Galactic Senate about it." It occurred to Anakin that this made them seem hideously married for real, but he decided not to push Obi-Wan. 

A sudden flurry of glitter rained down, and a foghorn sounded several times, ushering in yet another fast-paced marathon of dance music. Having looked up, Obi-Wan's gaze eventually latched onto the overhanging cages near the center of the room. "So uncivilized," he said, smirking a little, watching a group of three men, all about Anakin's age, swivel against one another and along the bars of the entrapment. 

Beside him, Anakin rolled his eyes. "Is it uncivilized because it's fun?" he griped. The alcohol in his system, and his general irritation over the past couple of days had loosened his already liberal tongue: "Sorry you don't seem to know what that is, Master."

Obi-Wan turned and looked him over. He didn't say anything for several seconds, and Anakin blinked, worried now that his Master's silent treatment would continue into the next day, as well. To his relief, however, Obi-Wan spoke: "Really?" he queried, and Anakin grew confused. "You know, just because you weren't around for most of it doesn't mean I didn't have upstarts in my adolescence; and anyways, I've been on plenty of missions to shady locales just like this one. My experience with night clubs does not end at tugging you from the Outlander at three in the morning with you missing your shirt, my very young former apprentice."

"Hah." It was both an exhalation of breath and a bemused response to this newfound information. "I don't believe you," he challenged, sure that Obi-Wan was just putting him on. When his Master did not yet cave, however, he tagged on a smug "prove it," and downed another yellow gelatin shot.

His Master appeared to be considering something. "Fine," he said suddenly, and before Anakin could offer his own "fine" in retort, he was gazing at Obi-Wan's retreating back. The older man (though not terribly so, he was starting to realize; even the beard, which should have been something of a deterrent in taking his disguise as a club-hopping youth seriously, seemed to enhance the overall effect of his costume more than it detracted) made his way towards the base of the cage, where several other patrons were congregating. One seemed to take an interest in Obi-Wan in particular, and soon, Anakin watched with his mouth agape from across the room as his Master began to gyrate alongside him. A second joined in, and then a third, and then his Master was climbing into the cage itself. His animal hide vest open, hair slicked stylishly, the soft downy hairs below his belly button on display, he was something to see, and the multi-colored lights made the sheen on his skin all the more prominent. At least four or five other men danced alongside him now, rubbing against him, hands reaching out to touch his chest or even, Anakin couldn't help but notice, palm over Obi-Wan's crotch.

After several minutes, his Master seemed to politely extract himself from the small cluster of admirers, climbing down the ladder without using any of his Jedi abilities, though Anakin was sure he found it tempting. Slowly, Obi-Wan made his way back towards his former Padawan; when he arrived, Anakin could see glitter dotting the sides of his face, his chest, even his hair, though Obi-Wan seemed to be aware of this much and reached up to ruffle his 'do a little. "You were saying?" he proffered with a small smile and a raised eyebrow.

"Wow, Master," Anakin said, at a loss for words. "Just ... wow." Impulsively, he reached out and tugged Obi-Wan to him, holding his face in his hands before planting a kiss on his mouth. The lip-lock lasted for several seconds; Obi-Wan made a slight moue of surprise, but eventually his eyes closed and he allowed Anakin to deepen things, even to probe his Master's mouth with his tongue. When at last Anakin broke it off, they were both panting a little. 

*

 

Late the next morning found the two undercover Jedi arriving at a posh country club for the formal Pride Brunch with the Queen and other Analbeadlean dignitaries. It was a prime target for Separatist attack, so in normal circumstances, the Jedi would be on high alert.

These, however, were not normal circumstances. After Obi-Wan had demonstrated his prowess in the cage, and Anakin had demonstrated his appreciation via a tongue in Obi-Wan's mouth, the evening had degenerated considerably. The proof of this was currently huddled in the passenger seat of their rented speeder, looking miserable in a khaki-colored linen blend suit with the shirt unbuttoned almost to his navel. 

"If you hadn't insisted on five double Tatooine sunburns on top of all of those gelatin shots, you wouldn't be in this situation," Obi-Wan informed him after Anakin groaned when the speeder took a particularly sharp corner.

Obi-Wan hadn't been exactly sober upon leaving the club either, but he'd found himself all but carrying Anakin back to their vehicle, the younger man handsy and inappropriately demonstrative in his drunkenness. It wasn't entirely an unfamiliar scenario, which had only served to irritate him even more, his own alcohol consumption making him all-too-aware of Anakin's current shortcomings, his inability to put the past well and truly behind him.

"Mmph," Anakin grunted at him, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring out the window as they pulled into their destination. 

Obi-Wan climbed out of the speeder, using the reflection of the window to make sure his hair was looking ridiculous enough and smoothing down his own suit jacket. The Temple quartermaster had apparently thought it would be hilarious for him and Anakin to wear matching outfits, though had been generous enough to provide a single neckerchief that Obi-Wan had claimed for himself. "Come on," he prodded Anakin. "And for the love of the Force, BEHAVE." The last thing this mission needed was for the Anakin Skywalker Show to have a mid-day encore in front of several dozen Republic dignitaries.

Anakin gave him a tight smile. "Of course, Master," he replied, falling seamlessly back into that version of himself that oozed charm. 

They both endured a receiving line, shaking hands and deflecting compliments - apparently several of those in attendance at the brunch had seen Obi-Wan's impromptu performance and the subsequent groping session - and finally were able to find their seats, at the Queen's table, no less, their spots reserved and even labeled with neat, handwritten place cards.

Though the Queen's boisterous voice could be heard booming at the table's head, the majority of Anakin's and Obi-Wan's (mostly Obi-Wan's, as Anakin was nursing a G-Shot hangover and doing his best to be as annoying about it as possible, no less) conversations took place with other patrons and visitors of Analbeadla's Pride Festival. "So Ben," a rough-looking guest with a tattooed and pierced face (and probably some other things) proffered, looking between Obi-Wan and Anakin, "How long have you and, er, Lars been together?"

"Oh, quite some time," 'Ben' responded, coughing a little out of vague discomfort at being so eyeballed. Sensing this, Anakin's mechno laced its fingers with Obi-Wan's nearest hand. 

"Who can remember?" Anakin intoned, nuzzling at Obi-Wan's cheek with his own. The fact that he still smelled like the previous night did not escape Obi-Wan's notice; the other man cleared his throat and subtly jutted his shoulder until Anakin at least partially sat back up. "It seems like only yesterday, we were trying out cock-rings for the first time,   
and now look!" He brandished purposefully the chain around his neck, showing off his (actual) wedding ring to anyone in the vicinity. "We're married, Master!"

He must have realized his mis-step the same time that Obi-Wan did; the other man's Force presence was suddenly laden with horror. "I mean, uh ..." Anakin faltered slightly. "Um, well, that is ..."

"Lars is my sub, actually," Obi-Wan cut in smoothly, even reaching over and patting Anakin's arm a little. "That's how we met." Anakin had about a million questions about just how many missions involving gay night clubs and sado-masochism his Master had actually been on before they'd been forced together, but, of course, now was not the time. "He was looking for someone to tell him what to do, and, well, that's my specialty, I suppose."

"Yeah, okay, but sometimes we switch, too, Master." The other patrons looked on curiously, and Obi-Wan's jaw clicked a little. Still, Anakin pressed on, slinging an arm around the other Jedi's shoulders. "Like that one time you and I and, uh, that one guy we met on the Holonet from Alderaan who said he was 'married, yet curious' all got together at his place and you took both of us straight up your -"

"Yes, thank you, Lars, that will be quite sufficient," Obi-Wan bristled, and Anakin smirked. 

The tattooed-and-pierced fellow was still watching them idly. "He's got a mouth on him," he commented, and then glanced pointedly at Obi-Wan: "You outta train your slave not to talk back. My boy doesn't even get to sit at the table like a person. And he wears a collar with a giant bell attached and isn't allowed to take it off without express permission from me."

Anakin saw red. He tried to remember that this was all for a greater cause, but it was entirely possible that his first instinct was to start clenching his hand in an all-too-familiar choking motion. Fortunately for all of them, Obi-Wan was good at waylaying his former Padawan's tendencies towards violence, and simply gripped the offending appendage, eventually smoothing out Anakin's fingers by covering them with his own. "Believe me, I've certainly tried, er, breaking his will," Obi-Wan said jovially, though the pressure he was placing on Anakin's hand now was anything but lighthearted. "He's stubborn, this one. But then, I suppose that's why I love him so." The threat of crushed windpipes having surpassed them, he let go of Anakin's hand and patted the other man several times on the head, and even pinched one of his cheeks for good measure. "I love you, Lars," he said moonily, and Anakin smiled through gritted teeth.

"And I love you, Master," he monotoned; and then, because he could, and because Obi-Wan karking deserved it, he impulsively gripped his Master's face once again and kissed him until Obi-Wan literally pulled away, coughing, most likely from the leftover booze fumes emanating from his former apprentice. "I'm so glad we're doing this together," Anakin stated, and Obi-Wan just glowered at him.


	3. Part III: Eternity is Our Friend, Remember That, and Love Will Follow You Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin gets himself in over his head, and everything he and Obi-Wan have been trying to suppress between them comes tumbling out.

"Do you really have to continue making such a scene?" His Master's lecturing had, so far, not abated. Obi-Wan was in full-blown teacher-mode, even managing to make his opinions on everything under Analbeadla's sun that it shared with five other systems known over the sounds of the band that was playing outdoors. Likewise, Anakin was fairly certain he was just about ready to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he was, in fact, no longer Obi-Wan's student.

"Those guys back at the brunch seemed to like it," Anakin shrugged, and then, because it still rankled him, "At least nobody called you a drukking slave, Master."

"Oh, Anakin." Obi-Wan looked weary all of the sudden. No matter how many times they went through this exercise, it seemed as though there was always another one in the pipeline somewhere.

He had planned to attempt to mollify, but Anakin cut him off. "Oh, Master," he mimicked, even crossing his arms in an approximation of Obi-Wan's typical body language. "I'm surprised you didn't start fitting me for a collar right then and there."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "While it would be nice to hear you coming with a giant bell around your neck like an overexcited Nekk puppy," he began, and Anakin begrudgingly smirked a little, "I was simply playing a role. Just like you, Anakin. That's what we must do sometimes."

Anakin vacillated sharply. "I know that, Master. Because that's what I've been saying to you this entire time. But I guess because it didn't fall from the lips of the Republic's famed Negotiator, it means nothing, right?"

Obi-Wan stared at him. "I'm afraid I don't understand your point, Anakin," he said mildly, and Anakin snapped.

"Because you never LISTEN to me," he informed Obi-Wan sharply. "Because I'm part of this mission too and you haven't listened to me ONCE!" He clenched his fists tightly, then forced himself to relax them. It wouldn't do to blow their cover because he couldn't control his temper - it would simply prove whatever stupid point Obi-Wan though he had, which wasn't something Anakin was keen on doing just now. 

With a sharp huff of air, Obi-Wan crossed his own arms over his chest, 'as usual,' Anakin thought snidely. "Because you've had nothing of value to add," his Master retorted evenly. "Your contributions have included getting outrageously intoxicated, attempting to initiate intercourse in public, and being incredibly rude and inappropriate during an official function. So please, Anakin, enlighten us both: Tell me what I've missed by not asking for your input."

While Anakin could not dispute the facts, he could still make his point. "It's not like you even wanted to do this," he pointed out. "Am I that awful you can't even pretend to moderately like me for one weekend?"

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Really, Anakin?" he asked, tilting his head incredulously. 

"Really!" Anakin exclaimed, throwing his arms out to the sides. 

His former Master simply shook his head and lapsed into silence. On the stage a few meters away, another band trotted out, one that Anakin recognized from his teen years: An angry-girl-progressive-rock band whose lyrics consisted mostly of instructions on how to perform cunnilingus, which Anakin had found quite helpful on his actual wedding night, truth be told. 

But as much as he may have wanted to steep himself in nostalgia, he still had a point to make, even if Obi-Wan was pretending to ignore him, and the music had only served to remind him, painfully, of what that point actually was. "Because you still treat me like I'm some snot-nosed little kid when I'm a Knight and a General!" The twisty nervous sun dragon in his heart coiled. 

That they were having this discussion in public did not seem to detract from Obi-Wan's ability to respond. "Because you act like a child," he said. "You may be a Knight and a General, but you are still a child in many ways, Anakin."

"I have a Padawan!" Anakin countered, realizing that it was a weak argument at best, and yet putting it on the table anyways. 

Obi-Wan latched onto it, though. "Yes, you do, and she's a Padawan who is several years your senior in terms of maturity." He ran a hand over his beard, visibly frustrated. "And who should not be exposed to the end result of your inability to do anything in moderation!"

Anakin jerked his head back slightly, lifting an eyebrow in confusion until he remembered the ill-timed workout from the other day. "You heard about that?" he asked, but quickly added, "That only happened the once! It's not like I make a habit of it!" 

And he didn't, not really. Since taking Ahsoka on as his Padawan, he'd tamed a lot of his more questionable behavior. Still, sometimes he just felt the need to break out of the mold the war had poured him into - enforcer, soldier, weapon - and the end result was what Ahsoka had so unfortunately witnessed. It wouldn't happen again, he thought to himself, but here and now, with Obi-Wan frowning at him like he was still the grubby nine-year-old boy Qui-Gon had plucked from obscurity off of Tatooine and burdened Obi-Wan into taking under his wing, he knew his vows to be better meant basically nothing. 

Though Obi-Wan stared at him unhappily, he did not flail around the way Anakin did. "Whatever blunder you've made recently with Ahsoka is not my concern," he told Anakin flat-out. "Though in complete honesty, you do make a habit of making a fool of yourself, and her tolerance for it will not last forever. She's a very smart girl, and -"

"For kriff's sake, do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?" It erupted from him tersely, and then sat there between them, heavy and terrible. He wanted to take it back. "O-Obi-Wan ..." he began, but his outburst had worked: Obi-Wan had been quite effectively shut down.

"Quite," his Master, his partner, his best friend offered simply, and if his voice was a little hoarse, Anakin wasn't about to fault him for it. He turned away then, leaving Anakin feeling like he had any time his Master had refused to put up with his particularly disrespectful antics as a youth and had opted for silence. This time, it was worse, however, because he knew better, and Obi-Wan knew he knew better, and he'd still fucked things up.

Obi-Wan remained mute and stock still through the next two songs. It hurt, it was supposed to hurt, he knew, and yet, the longer Obi-Wan froze him out, the pain was slowly replaced by the familiar and refreshing chill of anger. Kark Obi-Wan and his fear of attachments and his standards and his rules, Anakin thought, suddenly furious, and then he abruptly pivoted on his heel.

"Where are you going?" Obi-Wan's surprise was etched across his features, silence broken to gawk at his former Padawan's gall. "Are you abandoning your post?" he asked, and Anakin spun back around momentarily, perturbed.

"I'm going for a drink. Or five. Don't worry about it, Ben," he snarled, "I won't compromise our precious mission. I know it means more to you than anything else." And with that, he was gone. 

*

 

Another intermission led into a band fronted by a tall, leggy male lead with feathery hair and an outfit curiously similar to Anakin's. The physical similarities made Obi-Wan once again reach out instinctively through the Force, attempting to search for his wayward former apprentice. Instead, the space was cluttered with a simmering sexual tension and various other emotions from the Pride festival's numerous patrons. At least they had yet to run into any Separatist interference, he thought idly, and resisted the urge to sink deeper into his thoughts, to, as Anakin had called it on more than one occasion, stew in his own juices. It was difficult, however; the words he and Anakin had flung at one another had been raw and angry, and he hated - yes, hated, though the Order had worked so very hard to breed it out of him - that their relationship had once again been pushed to the precipice of a cliff over the usual cyclone of Anakin's emotions and his own emotional constipation. 

The lead singer paused his vocalizing and stood at the lip of the stage in a haughty pose, to raucous applause. Obi-Wan watched him breathe heavily and run a hand through his sweaty, long mane, and felt suddenly very alone.

*

 

The bar adjacent to the outdoor concert hall was dimly-lit and smoky, albeit not from fog lights, simply all manner of rolled cigarettes and the occasional death stick. Anakin forewent all of that in favor of hard alcohol, pounding back his third in the same hour and wiping his mouth with the back of his real hand. Each drink brought him further away from his fight with Obi-Wan, and at that moment, it was exactly what he wanted.

He didn't immediately notice the large, bulky frame take up space on the stool directly beside him; the rumbling laughter near his ear got his attention, however. "You're a pretty boy, aren't you Lars?" The voice was familiar, and Anakin turned and came face-to-face with the man from the brunch earlier that day. "Where's Master?" the man half-sneered, and Anakin shrugged.

"Dunno. I think he hates me." It was morose to say something like this to a near-stranger, but he really didn't care at the moment. He expected this to be the end of the conversation anyways, but the man seemed to be making himself more comfortable now, rather than getting ready to take his leave.

"Aw. Did the pretty boy slave finally mouth off one too many times?" When Anakin didn't say anything, the man continued prodding. "Hm. Did I strike a nerve?"

"You know nothing about me," Anakin replied softly, and his words slurred a little. In the Force, something rippled uneasily around him, but he ignored it. 

Beside him, the man continued to press his luck. "I know enough about mouthy slaves who need to learn their place," he said casually, and signaled to yet another gimp-masked bartender. "Another round for my friend here," he grinned, and before long, Anakin's empty glass was switched out for another one. "Drink up," his patron told him, sliding the glass slowly across the bar, and Anakin gazed down at it blearily.

"'m not your friend," he muttered, but took a drink nonetheless, and then another. He wasn't about to admit how close to home the career Dom's words were sort of lazily hitting, and in order to stay quiet, he needed to be yet drunker. 

The man watched him carefully. "My slave boy didn't get to come with me this year; he wanted to, but I told him Daddy needed to play without him." Anakin drained the glass and he smiled. "Maybe your Master will find someone else to play with tonight, too." 

It was a ridiculous notion, except it wasn't, because an image of Obi-Wan, standing alongside Bail Organa in the Alderaanian Senator's private kitchen, the both of them laughing at some anecdote Organa was telling involving Obi-Wan and shoddy cooking, flashed suddenly through his mind. "Maybe," Anakin intoned drowsily. Maybe Obi-Wan was off having a great kriffing time without him right now. Maybe his attitude had sprung not from the idea of the subterfuge, but the fact that he wasn't able to do it alone this time. Maybe ... maybe ...

"Good boy, pretty little slave," he heard the man say just before things went dark for him. "When the Master's away, the slave still has to play ..."

*

 

The headline act for the evening was, to Obi-Wan's mild surprise, a woman with painted-on eyebrows and a predilection for jaunty, amelodic tunes. She was apparently extremely popular, if the roar of the crowd every time she struck the opening chords of a new song was any indication. 

As the singer played an upbeat song about what Obi-Wan strongly suspected was a metaphor for a sex toy, he reached out through the Force once again, telling himself he was searching for Separatist activity. It was the reason they were there in the first place, he reminded himself harshly. This wasn't meant to be a vacation; it was a mission. A mission Anakin was not taking even slightly seriously. 

It wasn't as though Anakin were incapable of taking things seriously. Sometimes he took things TOO seriously, like the casual musing of a Dom over brunch, or the frustrated words of a tired friend. He was tired, Obi-Wan realized. The war was spreading them both too thin, taking too much from them. Obi-Wan retreated into the structure of the Order for relief while Anakin ... Anakin regressed into capricious teenager-mode. 

The thought of Anakin's behavior sparked another surge of annoyance, but this time it was tinged with something else: A warning in the Force, a slithering tendril of danger. 

On the stage, the song changed to something frantic and dark and desperate, matching the now roiling clouds in Obi-Wan's Force-sense. And at the cloud's center was Anakin, though Obi-Wan could not quite tell why. His immediate first instinct was that of COURSE Anakin had gotten himself into trouble in the hour, hour and a half he'd been gone. But then there was a call like a siren, and Obi-Wan suddenly felt fear.

Anakin. Anakin was in trouble. They'd parted on terrible terms, and Obi-Wan knew full well how clouded Anakin's judgment could become when he was angry - and drinking. Because that's what he'd said, wasn't it? That he was going for a drink. Or five. Obi-Wan cast his gaze around the venue, trying to pick out the most likely drinking establishment. 

The Force seemed to be pulling him towards the one closest to the stage. It wasn't Anakin's Force-signature - well, it was, but it was muddled and confused and it made Obi-Wan want to shove the concert-goers out of his way. As he got nearer to the bar, his sense of danger heightened until he was doing just that, shoving and pushing his way through the crowd until he was finally in the smoky confines of the bar. 

He looked around with both physical eyes and the Force, but he couldn't see his friend anywhere. Closing his eyes and centering himself, he reached out once more, finally pinpointing a secluded alcove at the bar end of the bar. 

Anakin was propped up in a chair, his shirt pulled open and hanging loosely off his shoulders, his pants undone, eyes and mouth half-open. Standing over him was the Dom from earlier in the day, tracing a trail of ice down Anakin's bare chest. "That's a good slave," he heard the man say, and Anakin made a soft mewling noise.

In a flash, Obi-Wan had pushed the man aside, forgetting in his haste not to back it up with the Force. "Anakin!" he exclaimed, not even bothering with the charade, forgetting and then remembering and then shoving the disguise aside angrily. He knelt beside his friend, grabbing his shoulders and giving him a shake. "Anakin!"

Anakin's head lolled as he seemed to struggle to focus on Obi-Wan's face. He reeked of alcohol, but Obi-Wan knew that it took more than that to put Anakin into this kind of state. The younger man's pupils were dilated, and his eyelids fluttered weakly, but he didn't respond. Growing desperate, Obi-Wan slapped him lightly on the cheek, and then again. "What did you give him?" he demanded of the man, who was watching the spectacle; obviously Obi-Wan would have to remember to push harder next time. 

"Just something I thought he'd like," the Dom responded. "Didn't mean to step on your turf." He held up his hands in mock-surrender. 

Obi-Wan shook his head, glowering as he managed to sling Anakin's arm around his shoulders and ease him into an almost-standing position. Anakin's knees buckled and only judicious use of the Force got them both moving again. 

It was uncharacteristic, but Obi-Wan would have very much liked to practice his own brand of Force-choking at the moment. However, he had more important things to worry about. Keeping a firm arm around Anakin's waist and with his other hand holding Anakin's arm, they managed to make it back out into the cool night air, together again.

*

 

Getting them both all the way back to their temporary shared room at a large, overpriced, overbooked hotel where they nonetheless held key cards the duration of the weekend was a feat, to be sure, but Obi-Wan managed, fueled by adrenaline and a pressing need to make sure that Anakin, his former Padawan, his Chosen One, his everything, was, in fact, all right.

Once inside, he let Anakin fall heavily across the large mattress that, as assumed husbands, they were expected to share. Tugging his worn, familiar utility belt from a hidden compartment in the small piece of luggage he had toted along to keep up appearances, Obi-Wan quickly uncapped a device not unlike the one Qui-Gon must have used to take Anakin's first blood sample for the Jedi all those years ago. He depressed it as gently as possible in Anakin's arm, and then waited impatiently for the results. The mild poison currently circulating in the young man's bloodstream was nothing that some of the universal antidote Obi-Wan always carried with him, alongside spare bacta strips and his lightsaber, couldn't fix. Without fanfare, he tugged a vial of that out of the inner-workings of his belt, as well, fed it into Anakin's arm, and then put away his supplies and waited for it to take effect.

After several minutes, Anakin began to seem more lucid; long eyelashes fluttered against paler-than-usual cheeks, and soft, pink lips parted as he heaved a sigh. "Obi-Wan ..." his former Padawan murmured, and his eyes opened, belying his sudden anxiety at the reality of the situation. "I'm sorry," he gasped brokenly, and Obi-Wan could sense Anakin's deep shame percolating in the Force. Sure enough, tears soon welled up in Anakin's deep blue eyes, and then rolled down his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered again. "I f-fucked everything up ... I got myself in trouble and you had to come save me again, just like you always had to when I was your a-apprentice." He hiccupped, and more tears splashed down his face.

Perched on the bed beside him, Obi-Wan leaned over Anakin, cradling him in his lap. The positioning was vaguely reminiscent of how he had held Qui-Gon in his beloved Master's final moments, and the realization of this caused him to clutch at Anakin a little more desperately. When he spoke again, his voice was soft: "My Anakin," he murmured, and Anakin seemed surprised to find him so kind. He swept the pads of his thumbs underneath the young man's dampened eyelashes, wiping at the wetness there. "I thought I had lost you just now," he continued, and squeezed reassuringly the hand that Anakin had brought up to hold his. "And that scared me beyond the telling of it. You're so special, Anakin - to me," he clarified, and Anakin's eyes widened a little. "I know we've been through a lot lately, both together and apart; and I know that perhaps I am not the friend you need, often when you need one the most." Anakin cradled his forearm now while Obi-Wan cradled him. "But I love you, Anakin. I need you. Please don't ever doubt how much."

"Master," Anakin croaked. He swallowed, and his voice returned. "I've disrespected your teachings. I should be passing on your wisdom to Ahsoka, and instead, I've been acting like I'm still your Padawan - or worse." He looked away, his cheek pressing against Obi-Wan's knee a little. "And here you are," he said ruefully, his voice more menacing now, "rescuing me again. Pulling me out of a situation I should have known better than to get myself into in the first place." He closed his eyes against the swelling torrent of emotions that were threatening to erupt from him anew. "Sometimes," he said thickly, "sometimes I'm not sure why you didn't just give up on me. Nobody would have blamed you. I was kind of a lost cause from the beginning."

It was a lot laid bare at once. "Look at me, Anakin," Obi-Wan ordered softly, and Anakin (for once) obeyed. "Neither of us can change what has happened in the past. We may want to, but it is impossible, and to dwell on it does a disadvantage to us being able to answer our sacred callings." He paused. "In any case, let's put this to rest right now: Before Qui-Gon died, he asked me to train you, and at the time, I was terribly unsure of myself, completely overwhelmed at the thought of it." Anakin listened to him carefully. "And then, after his funeral, Master Yoda cut off my braid and grilled me on the nature of Qui-Gon's dying wish. He told me to look inside of myself and seek out the truth. And so I did. And do you know what I discovered, Anakin?"

"No, Master," Anakin said quietly. This was not a story he had ever been privy to, and he worried that even breathing too loudly would interrupt it. He laid very still across Obi-Wan's lap, his Master's fingers lightly squeezing his own.

Obi-Wan smiled down at him fondly. "I realized, when I asked the Force what to do, the answer was already there. I felt it inside of myself the same way I felt on Mortis when I watched you tussle with the personifications of Light and Darkness themselves. I was meant to train you, Anakin," he explained, and his eyes shone with emotion and perhaps a couple of unshed tears of his own. "You were my destiny. You were meant to be my Padawan; Qui-Gon had found you, but you belonged to me."

Anakin couldn't speak. It was an incredible testament, and how he had ever doubted Obi-Wan's love for him before, he honestly couldn't say. "I love you, Master," he bit out, and then managed to haul himself into a sitting position, albeit, once more, with a little help from Obi-Wan, until they were face-to-face. "I need you, Obi-Wan," he said, staring directly into the other man's eyes, and when Obi-Wan at long last initiated the first of a series of searing kisses exchanged between them, he couldn't help but sob into his Master's mouth, grateful, Chosen, cherished.

*

 

The Separatists did not, in fact, attack Analbeadla that weekend. It was probably for the best, Obi-Wan thought as their ship left the planet's atmosphere, heading back to Coruscant, back to their normal lives (as normal as they could be, in any case). After the events of the previous evening, neither of them had much energy to muster to fight off a 'droid army, anyways.

"Wish they could all be easy like that," Anakin commented, propping his feet - shod anew in his Jedi boots - on the cockpit control panel and lacing his fingers behind his head. 

Beside him in the co-pilot's seat, Obi-Wan looked over at him in disbelief. "Easy?" he challenged. "You call that easy?" If Obi-Wan had had his choice, he'd have taken a hundred battle 'droids over one moment of having to see Anakin as he had been the night before. 

Anakin shrugged noncommittally. They'd fallen asleep in one another's arms after some rampant activity - Anakin had joked breathlessly afterwards that they were "consummating their nuptials," and Obi-Wan had shoved at him playfully - waking only just in time to check out of their hotel, and neither of them had spoken of the previous day's events. Just like they didn't speak of so many things, Obi-Wan thought. Still, it was nice to see Anakin's good-natured humor return, even if the sentiment was somewhat misplaced. "I bet Dooku couldn't figure out what to wear," his former apprentice commented suddenly.

The thought of Count Dooku dressed in any of the garments he had seen that weekend made Obi-Wan chuckle, and also gag a little. "Yes, I'm sure that's exactly what happened."

Anakin's eyes suddenly lit up. "D'you think we can keep the outfits?" he asked hopefully. 

With a sigh, Obi-Wan shook his head. "I have no idea, but I don't really have much desire to wear such a ridiculous getup again." And how; the black animal hide was starting to chafe, among other things. He'd take his lightweight, light-colored, boring, standard-issue Jedi tunics any day, he thought.

Anakin waggled his eyebrows lasciviously. "I dunno, Master, you looked pretty hot, and I wasn't the only one who noticed." 

"Yes. Well." Obi-Wan cleared his throat in a Masterly way. "Regardless, we have once again done our duty for the Republic and have helped ensure that free beings may openly express their identities however they choose. Thanks to the continued efforts of the Jedi, Analbeadla's Pride Festival remains an annual exchange of nuanced celebrations of sexualities and all manner of gender identities, as well as the coalescence of ... he trailed off, suddenly, uncharacteristically, at a loss for words.

Fortunately, Anakin was there to pick up the slack. "A coalescence of bodily fluids?" he offered helpfully, and Obi-Wan sighed and rubbed at his temples. "You love me," he stated smugly.

"Wherever did you get that idea?" Obi-Wan frowned, his head still in his hands.

Anakin snorted. "Musta hallucinated it," he smiled, and was gratified to see a tiny grin creep across his Master's face, however hard he must have been trying to hide it.

*

 

Bail Organa's spacious apartment was dark when he arrived at its doorway, laden with a couple of shopping bags, a handful of papers he'd toted home from his office, and his commlink, which he held to his ear by cradling it between the side of his face and his shoulder. "All right, and so what did the ambassador say about finding an alternate time so I'm not triple-booked for tomorrow's lunch hour on two different planets?" he queried. On the other end, his personal assistant, Sheltay Retrac, began rattling off a shortened version of this particular ambassador's rather long-winded response to being, as she had wryly characterized it, "abandoned like a nest of ugly gundark eggs." 

Bail smiled as he listened to Sheltay expound some more, and then palmed open the door to his private quarters and waved his hand to turn on a light ... upon which he stopped short, after very nearly jumping out of his skin. "So then he starts telling me about how his wife just came back from a week at this rejuvenation spa on Corellia and their union has never been stronger ..." Sheltay was saying, and while normally Bail would have listened and offered bemused vocal inflections as the story almost assuredly spiraled into something ridiculous, he suddenly found himself not giving half of a bantha's turd one way or the other about Ambassador Whoever-the-Kriff and his frivolous wife.

"Sheltay, I'm gonna have to call you back ... yeah, just transcribe those meeting notes for me and then send them out to ... uh, I'm kinda drawing a blank, he's ... blue, maybe? Maybe more of a medium-purple? I just ... oh, kark it," he said at last, and hit the 'end transmission' button on the device with far more force than necessary, before tossing it across the room. He deposited the other items in his arms hastily into an armchair. "I didn't know you were back," he said to the figure looming calmly in the corner of the room, and then began looking him up and down. "Nor did I know that you would look that good in dark colors," he said approvingly, and Obi-Wan smirked. "So to what do I owe the pleasure?" the Senator continued mildly, though the front of his pants were beginning to tent. "You came to return the ring, I suppose, yes?"

"Something like that." Obi-Wan's voice was smooth, the black hide pants sitting hideously low on his waist. Bail licked his lips in anticipation. "I mean, you'll have to find it on me first," the Negotiator intoned breathily, and Bail didn't have to be told twice.


End file.
